Pit Stop
by bluebel703
Summary: 1x02 After hunting the Wendigo, the Impala needs gas and Dean needs to put his game face on.


The drove away from Colorado as fast as they could. When they were kids, their Dad always insisted on getting one state away before they stopped for the night and the habit stuck while Dean hunted alone.

Still, the Impala didn't know the rules. It needed gas and Dean had been driving for five hours and needed to pee. They stopped at a small gas station outside Creede, Colorado. Dean tossed the keys to Sam and told him to fill up the Impala. He needed a moment alone in the bathroom to take stock of his injuries. There were deep cuts on his wrists from the rope that had tied him to the ceiling. His shoulders were swollen from being twisted behind him by the Wendigo.

His face was bruised and bloody. He ran the tepid water out of the faucet and ran the water over his face, trying to wipe the worst of the grime off.

He looked in the mirror. His face was still covered in dirt.

It was never comfortable having one's hands tied behind one's back. Dean's shoulders hurt, so did his wrists. He splashed more water on his face and shook his head. He needed to wake up. If Sammy wasn't around, he would have pulled into a hotel and drank himself unconscious for a night, maybe met a local girl to take his mind of the pain and the fear hangover. Now, though, Sam was waiting, which meant Dean had to keep his game face on. He looked at his ragged face one more in the mirror, then sighed, it would have to suffice.

When Dean emerged, Sam was already leaning again the driver's side of the Impala, a plastic bag in his hand.

"Hey," Sam said his eyes roaming over Dean.

"Hey."

"How are you doing?" Sam asked. Dean grinned.

"Good."

The smile on Sam's face was too knowing for Dean's liking. Sam pulled out a bottle of a painkillers and some gauze.

"Let me take a look," he said. Dean snorted.

"Dude, I'm fine."

And he was. He hoped to God Sam never knew some of the injuries he faced while hunting alone. There were times Dean woke up alone in his own vomit. One time, he would have bled out if a jogger hadn't found him and called 911. This – chaffed wrists and hurt shoulders – was nothing.

Sam motioned for Dean's hands. Dean hesitated then extended his arms. Silently, Sam sterilized the broken skin with rubbing alcohol.

"Dude," Sam said with a twinge of exasperation when Dean swore.

"What? It hurts."

"You're fine," Sam said with a hint of impatience, but his voice was fond and he was gentler than he had to be while he applied the Polysporine to the cuts.

"Take these," Sam said, dumping three extra strength painkillers into his palm. Dean swallowed them dry. Sam took the gauze and wrapped it around Dean's wrists. He taped the gauze in place then checked his handiwork, flipping Dean's wrists over. There was an ugly, red scar on Dean's right forearm, the aftermath of a burn. A scar Sam didn't witness, whose history he didn't know. Sam stopped checking the bandages and ran his thumb along the edge of the burn. Dean could see him frowning, the question forming on his lips.

"Are you done, Florence Nightingale?" Dean snapped, pulling his arms away from Sam. Sam gave him one of those long, concerned looks. Usually, he would have pushed the issue, Sam wasn't much for staying silent, but they hadn't been together long and Sam let it go.

Dean scratched the back of his head and pulled the keys out of his pocket.

"No," Sam said plucking the keys out of Dean's hands. "I'm driving."

"But -"

"I'm driving. You get some rest," he said again, walking to the driver's seat before Dean could protest further.

With an aggrieved sigh, Dean settled in the passenger side of the car. Sam started the car and turned the radio on Iron Man by Black Sabbath played. Dean rested his head against the window and closed his eyes. God he was sore.

Moments later, Sam thumped him on the shoulder. Dean looked up with a scowl. Sam held his jacket out to him. Dean snatched it and bundled it up under his head without thanks. The Impala purred underneath him, his music played, and Sam sat beside him. This was the closest to happiness Dean got. A small smile played at his lips, and he fell asleep.

 **Please take a moment to review! Thanks**


End file.
